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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24231640">Harry Potter &amp; The Covid Curse</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorHumbug/pseuds/ProfessorHumbug'>ProfessorHumbug</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne &amp; Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Magically Powerful Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:54:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,674</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24231640</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorHumbug/pseuds/ProfessorHumbug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A new Dark Wizard has arisen. <br/>A new World Order has begun.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Ron Weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Harry Potter &amp; The Covid Curse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-CHAPTER ONE-</p>
<p>The Blue Fog</p>
<p>Charing Cross Road was unusually quiet.  A woman with frizzy hair stood outside the closed bookshop, fidgeting with rubber gloves as she eyed the man coming towards her.  He was tall and thin, with messy black hair and round glasses.  The suit he wore creased at the elbows, making it look ridiculously big, and there was a strange scar on his forehead.  It was shaped like a lightning bolt – although everything else about him was unremarkable. </p>
<p>Normally, the woman would have ignored him.  He was the sort of person who blended easily into the background of a morning commute – an accountant or an insurance broker or something else equally dull.  Today, however, she watched carefully as he passed, making sure he stayed the recommended two metres away.  She couldn’t risk taking anything home to her mother.  Although, she thought, with a stab of dark humour, after the argument they’d had that morning perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad.</p>
<p>Harry saw the woman watching him and slowed his steps, not wanting her to notice as he disappeared into the rundown pub next to the bookshop.  Muggles usually didn’t notice the Leaky Cauldron - however due to the strict Muggle lockdown measures, anything unnecessarily open was likely to be the subject of investigation.  After several seconds, Harry realised she wasn’t going to look away and so stealthily removed his wand from his pocket and stashed it into his sleeve. <br/>“Diffindo.”</p>
<p>The woman’s shopping bag split.  He heard her swear and as she scrabbled around to pick up the loo rolls and pasta, he slipped through the Leaky Cauldron’s door. <br/>Other than a new barman, everything looked exactly the same as it had when Harry was eleven years old.  The interior was dark and shabby and all of the stools were mismatched.  In one dingy corner sat a fussily dressed warlock, hunched over a glass of Fire Whisky and singing a ditty about mushrooms and goblin socks.  He didn’t look up as Harry entered but the barman immediately limped over, instructing Harry to wait by the door. </p>
<p>“Sorry, Mr Potter, standard procedure,” he explained, waving a gnarled, oak wand in Harry’s direction.  Harry felt a slight pressure on his forehead before the barman nodded and Harry could approach the bar.   </p>
<p>“How’s your uncle doing?” Harry asked, ordering a large Gillywater.  The new barman was Tom’s nephew.  He was just as toothy, although perhaps a little less wizened. <br/>“Still in St Mungo’s.”  The barman pulled a face as he thudded the drink down.  “Curse nearly saw him off but Uncle Tom’s a fighter.  He’ll be back at the Cauldron in no time.  No, don’t be silly.  Aurors don’t pay here.”  He waved away the Sickles in Harry’s hand.  “I know you’re working overtime.”</p>
<p>Gratefully, Harry put the coins back in his pocket.  It was true – ever since the beginning of winter, when the Dark Wizard calling himself The Shadow had emerged and released the deadly curse, most of his colleagues at the Ministry had taken to finishing their shifts and sleeping in the office.  Harry himself had barely spoken to Ginny in the last few days and he’d yet to open the letter Albus had sent from Hogwarts.  It was still sitting in his in tray, along with sixteen inches worth of interoffice memos – something that gave Harry a headache just to think about.  He rubbed his temples and took a sip of Gillywater.</p>
<p>He’d been complacent – that he knew.  It had been nice for a while to worry about nothing more than illegal dragonhide dealers but it was only a matter of time before another Dark Wizard rose up.  They were like Blast Ended Screwts – constantly regenerating and difficult to stamp out.  The curse had even affected the Muggle Prime Minister – something the Auror Department had gotten into a lot of trouble over.  It hadn’t taken long for headlines to appear in the Daily Prophet; “THE SHADOW - AURORS OUT OF THEIR DEPTH?” and, “TIME FOR POTTER TO POTTER OFF?”  </p>
<p>The door at the far end of the bar swung open and light spilled in, interrupting Harry’s thoughts.</p>
<p>“Alright?” called a familiar voice.  It was Ron, pale and tired looking beneath his freckles.  He waited until the barman had completed the Temperature Charm before stomping over and throwing his cloak on the stool next to Harry.</p>
<p>“Bad day?”</p>
<p>“You don’t know the half of it,” Ron grumbled, ordering a Fizzy Gin and scowling at the warlock in the corner, who was still singing.  “You know what Hermione’s like.  She doesn’t think Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes constitutes ‘necessary work that can’t be done from home.’”  He mimicked a high, sniffy voice and rolled his eyes.  “But it’s like George says.  He and Fred didn’t let a hag like Umbridge stop them from opening, or the Wizarding War.  People need to laugh.  Sometimes it’s all they’ve got to live for.”  </p>
<p>The warlock in the corner waved his arms and finished his song with a tremulous bellow, “They were filled with rocks, and bits of old clocks, those stinky goblin socks,” before letting out an enormous belch and banging on the table for another drink. </p>
<p>“This curse has put most of Diagon Alley out of action,” Ron carried on, shaking his head.  “Madam Malkin’s is boarded up and those pure-blood maniacs at Twilfitt and Tattings are forcing house-elves to work the shop floor.  They’re not doing anything illegal but you can imagine the earful Hermione gave me about that.”<br/>Harry nodded sympathetically.  Like goblins, house-elves didn’t seem to be affected badly by the curse.  He could just imagine Hermione’s fierce expression, though, as she lectured Ron about elvish enslavement.  She’d never given up on S.P.E.W and whilst working for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had even managed to push through legislation which meant practices like beheading house-elves when they got too old were now an imprisonable offence.</p>
<p>“Still, Dad says we can’t moan too much,” Ron carried on, “The Muggles are worse off than we are.  They’re calling this thing a virus instead of a curse and wearing those weird masks that make them look like Duckbilled Flobberworms.  At least Hogwarts isn’t closed.  I’d go mad if Rose and Hugo were knocking around, winding each other up.”</p>
<p>Harry laughed, thinking Ginny would feel the same if the boys and Lily were under their feet.  </p>
<p>“How’s George doing?”    </p>
<p>“Stressed,” Ron shrugged.  “Half our stock of Love Potions went up in flames yesterday.”  The tips of his ears turned red.  “One of the, er, assistants forgot to lock the cabinet with the Decoy Detonators in.  A few escaped into the backroom and…well…George went mental.  The fumes travelled all the way out to Eeylops Owl Emporium and you wouldn’t believe the noise owls make when they-”   </p>
<p>  Harry snorted into his drink and nearly choked.  Ron slapped him on the back and the barman appeared again, carrying a glass of hissing, pink liquid.  He placed it in front of Ron and then was forced to duck as a barrel of mead danced out from behind the bar and shot over his head, narrowly avoiding collision.  It had been summoned by the warlock in the corner, who was waving his wand in a random fashion and slurring a new, very rude, song.  </p>
<p> “Anyway,” Ron said, as the barman rushed off to deal with the situation.  He gulped the drink down in one.  “How come you wanted to see me?  Ginny said you were working overtime.”</p>
<p>“I have been.”  Harry reached into his pocket and brought out the tattered book that had fallen into his possession.  He pushed it towards Ron.  The cover was moss green and dogeared, and old potion stains marred the pages.  It had taken a lot of time and trouble to get hold of.  “First, though, I need to warn you…”</p>
<p>“Well, well, well.”</p>
<p>Harry closed his eyes.  Too late.  Ron turned in the direction of the cold, drawling voice and Harry saw his ears change suddenly from red to scarlet.  Draco Malfoy stood in the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, one hand on his father’s walking cane, sleek blond hair flowing over the shoulders of an expensive travelling cloak.  As the barman performed the standard Charm, Draco tugged his hands free from his gloves and checked the time on an antique, gold pocket watch. </p>
<p> “I know I’m late,” he sneered at Harry, “But surely you’re not that desperate for company?  Or did he insist on weaselling his way into our meeting?”</p>
<p>Ron glared and made a rude gesture that would have made Hermione tut under her breath.  Draco ignored him, his grey eyes instead drifting over the Cauldron’s scuffed furniture and shabby décor.  The sneer on his face became more pronounced. </p>
<p>“My mother always said this place was a dive.  Still, Weasley, I suppose it’s luxury compared to the hovel you grew up in.  Is it true that your parents actually paid for you to stay here once?  It must have seemed like a palace.  What a shame the Floo Network’s being decontaminated, I could have suggested an establishment that would have blown your poor little mind.”</p>
<p>Harry gritted his teeth.  Although he and Malfoy were on better terms now, he still found him to be…what was the word Ron always used?</p>
<p>“Git.”</p>
<p>“Manners, Weasel King,” said Draco silkily, flicking his cane at an empty stool.  It immediately became a throne-like armchair, adorned with black and gold embroidery and accompanied by a matching footrest.  He undid his travelling cloak and sat down, observing them imperiously over his fingertips. </p>
<p>“Well?” he said, “Do I have to guess why you’ve brought me here, or am I going to have to curse the information out of you?”</p>
<p>Ron flushed, his hand automatically moving to his wand pocket.  “I’d like to see you try.”</p>
<p>“Tsk.  Never make threats you can’t keep, Weasley.  Duels were never your strong point - I seem to remember you telling me to eat slugs once.  That didn’t turn out very well, did it?”</p>
<p>Ron made an angry noise and glared at Harry.  “Why’d you invite him?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Potter, we’re all in suspense,” yawned Malfoy.  He brushed away an imaginary piece of lint from his sleeve.  “If you could make it quick, I’d appreciate it.  I’m rather busy, you see, acting as patron for several organisations and, as much as I enjoy school reunions, I can’t afford to delay my other appointments.    If the Auror Department requires more gold, a simple owl would suffice…”</p>
<p>Harry suppressed the urge to punch him.  Despite everything that had happened both in and since the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco was still the most arrogant person he knew.  Unfortunately, he needed him.  Breathing heavily through his nose, Harry forced himself to be patient. </p>
<p> “This,” he said, holding up the battered, green book, “Is the reason you’re here.”</p>
<p>Ron stared at it.  Draco stood up. </p>
<p>“If you’re done wasting my time, Potter,” he sighed, pulling his gloves on again.  </p>
<p>“Wait.  Hear me out.”</p>
<p>Draco slowly sat down.  Harry felt his heart pounding.  It was going to take all he had to admit but the Daily Prophet was right.  The Auror Department was out of its depth.  He was out of his depth.  They were no closer to finding the identity of The Shadow than they had been a month ago, and no closer to breaking the curse.  Wizards and Muggles alike were suffering and Dementors had begun to breed again; feasting on the sorrow and despair that hung thickly on the air like a storm that wouldn’t pass.  He had to buy them more time.  He needed to take a risk.  </p>
<p>“I’ve seen that before,” Ron said, his nose wrinkling.  “I recognise it…”</p>
<p>“It was Fred’s,” Harry handed the book to him.  “I found it in our attic.  Ginny thought it was lost.  She took it from The Burrow not long after he died, to remember him.  It’s a record of everything.  Sketches, scribbles, all the ideas he and George had.”</p>
<p>Ron flicked through the pages; his voice suddenly gruff.  “I never could read his writing.”</p>
<p>“That’s exactly why I need you.”</p>
<p>“But you evidently don’t need me.”  Draco was on his feet once more, rolling his eyes and checking his pocket watch.  “As touching as this is, I have other places to be.  Good day, Potter.  Weasley.”</p>
<p>“Wait.” </p>
<p>Harry took the book from Ron and threw it at Malfoy. </p>
<p>“Read it.  The last page.”</p>
<p>Draco caught it impatiently.  He flicked to the very end, his expression clearly dictating what he thought of the matter.  Harry saw him squint at the last page before turning it upside down.</p>
<p>“Silverwing Tears.  You’ll never find that, the last one died three centuries ago.  The rest of the spell is almost indecipherable,” Draco’s lip curled as he tossed the book back.  “Besides, something that complex would take an enormous amount of magical energy – the power of one witch or wizard alone wouldn’t be enough to make it hold.  I suppose you want the staff at St Mungo’s to utilise it.”</p>
<p>“Not just the St Mungo’s staff,” Harry said firmly.  “This is for the Muggle doctors and nurses too.  For everyone giving themselves up to save another.  You’re right though; it would take an enormous amount of magical energy to make it work.  That’s why we have to work together.  There’s no difference between those the curse will take, magic or non-magic, so there can be no difference between those fighting it.  We’ve got to do it, whether the Muggles know we stand with them or not.”</p>
<p>Draco’s eyes glittered in the dimness.  Harry thought he was about to object but then wondered whether something else was going through his mind.  After all, it had been a Muggle doctor who had found Draco’s wife, Astoria, on that warm summer evening and tried to resuscitate her.  Was it this he was remembering, when he next spoke?</p>
<p>“I’m returning to Malfoy Manor tomorrow.  The library contains many rare artefacts—”</p>
<p>“Illegal artefacts,” Ron interrupted.</p>
<p>“Rare artefacts,” Draco emphasised.  His lips thinned sourly and Harry wished Ron would shut up.  “Many of which are hidden under concealment charms.  I recall many years ago coming across a book on butterfly entomology and finding a bottle secreted within its pages.  My father told me it contained Silverwing Tears.  Which, although unique, is hardly illegal.”</p>
<p>He finished abruptly and shot Ron a disdainful look.  Harry felt his shoulders relax, relief beginning to trickle through him.  He’d been right.  From everything he’d ever heard Ron’s dad say, Lucius was an avid procurer of both Dark and rare magic.    If anyone had known where to locate this precious ingredient, it would be Draco. </p>
<p>“Brilliant,” he said.</p>
<p>Draco nodded.  He flicked his cane again and the armchair disappeared, returned to its former, unglamorous state.  </p>
<p>“I’ll be in touch, Potter,” he said, sweeping his cloak on and bowing his head curtly.  He even gave Ron a small, cold smile.  “Weasley.”</p>
<p>Ron grunted and turned away, signalling to the barman to bring him another drink.  Malfoy briskly left the Cauldron and Harry heard the crack as he Apparated outside.  </p>
<p>“I hate him,” Ron spat, picking up the nearest bar mat and savagely tearing it to pieces.  “Ginny’s right, he’s a cockroach.  Maybe I should turn him into one and squash him with one of those swatting things.  Why, in the name of Merlin’s baggy underpants, do you trust him?  He was always trying to get one over on us, even at Hogwarts.” </p>
<p>Harry adjusted his glasses.  It was a question he asked himself, sometimes, too.  There had been times, however, when Draco seemed to be trying to redeem himself from everything that had happened in the past.  For instance, it was due to Draco that Harry knew of The Shadow’s existence at all.  If he hadn’t, then the Auror Department wouldn’t have been able cast a Reducing Spell, stopping the curse from being as deadly as it was meant to be.  </p>
<p>“He’s useful,” he said, after a moment’s pause.  “He hears things…whispers…”</p>
<p>Ron rolled his eyes.  “So does a dragon with ten heads, but you wouldn’t invite it to dinner, would you?</p>
<p>“Unless you’re Hagrid,” Harry grinned.  “Look, don’t worry.  I’m not going to be mates with him, it’s just work stuff.  You know.”</p>
<p>Ron glanced at the book.  “Work stuff.”  He rubbed his nose and sighed.  “You’re mental, you know that?  One day, I’m going to force you to switch off that stupid superhero thing you do and just come out for a drink.  Like a normal person.”</p>
<p>Harry nodded.  “I’ll hold you to that.”  He pushed the book into Ron’s hands.  “For now, just give this to George.  I know he finds it difficult talking about Fred but he’s the only one who can read his handwriting.  We need to find out how this spell works, the one Fred thought of.  It’s the only thing that might help.”</p>
<p>Ron looked grim.  Harry knew he was already thinking how to broach the conversation in his mind; George had never recovered from his twin’s death.  Even after all these years, he still struggled to produce a Patronus Charm.  Angelina once told Harry privately that this was due to all his happiest memories being with Fred.</p>
<p>Finally, the barman arrived with Ron’s drink.  He drained this quickly before pocketing the book and turning to go. </p>
<p>“Aren’t you coming?” he asked Harry.</p>
<p>Harry was still sitting down.  He fiddled with the stem of his Gillywater, nerves squirming in his stomach.  He shook his head. </p>
<p>“Can’t, mate.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure George would like to see you—”  </p>
<p>“Can’t.  Catch you another time, though, yeah?”</p>
<p>Ron shrugged.  “Tell Ginny we’ll come for dinner soon.”</p>
<p>Harry waved goodbye and watched Ron walk past the heavy oak staircase towards the back door, which led into the alley full of bins, after which was a tall, brick wall that, if you tapped the bricks in the correct order, opened up onto Diagon Alley. </p>
<p>Harry checked the time.  His next appointment would be arriving soon.  This was the one he’d been dreading.  It was the one that might involve him committing career suicide.  Yet, he thought soberly, as he heard Muggle sirens in the distance, it was a sacrifice he might need to make. </p>
<p>After fifteen long minutes, the door to the Leaky Cauldon swung open once again.  A woman with rigid blond curls, a heavyset jaw and bejewelled spectacles sashayed in.  Her eyes swept over the place until they came to a rest on Harry.  She threw him a glowing smile, which didn’t quite reach her eyes.  </p>
<p>“The Boy Who Lived,” Rita Skeeter cried.  “What a pleasure.  It’s been years.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>On Thursday evening, the sky was dyed pink and gold and the streets of London remained quiet, except for the odd car or wail of sirens that echoed between the buildings and houses.  Harry stood on the path leading to an underground set of toilets which disguised the official entrance to the Ministry of Magic.  He was about to begin his evening shift and Ginny had insisted he take a brown paper bag full of homemade chilli with him because, she said, he was so usually so distracted at work that he often forgot to eat.  Her cooking was just as good as Mrs Weasley’s - although he didn’t get to taste it very often lately because Ginny was usually so busy working herself.</p>
<p>The article that had appeared in the Daily Prophet hadn’t been as dreadful as Harry imagined it was going to be.  He wasn’t sure whether Rita’s sharp, green quill had lost some of its acidity over the years, or perhaps she’d had a crisis of conscience and realised she could actually do some good for once.  Either way, the article had done more than Harry could have dreamt.  All week witches and wizards throughout the country had busied themselves, collecting ingredients and distilling potions and lining up outside their local Ministry building to receive a single drop of Silverwing tears.  Draco had found two large, stoppered bottles in the Malfoy Library.  It was more than enough; each potion required no more than a pin drop.  </p>
<p>Harry checked his watch.  The headlines in the Daily Prophet were calling the effort ‘FRED’S ARMY.’  George was now keeping the book; seeing Fred’s writing again had sparked a frenzy of ideas and Angelina informed Harry that for the last few days she’d only heard whoops and bangs coming from his study. </p>
<p>It was almost time.  The Auror Department might have been out of its depth.  And yes, The Shadow might have brought the world to its knees, spreading an evil curse.  However, that didn’t mean The Shadow was going to win.</p>
<p>As the bells at the nearest church rang eight, Harry saw Muggles appearing at windows and balconies.  He could hear clapping and Muggle children shouting, and banging saucepan lids and holding up pictures of rainbows.  As the noise swelled, filling the whole sky, Harry took out his wand and the vial of potion that Fred had invented.  He dipped his wand into the potion and lifted it high above his head, as he knew other witches and wizards were doing at this moment.  A stream of blue vapour appeared at the tip of his wand; weak at first but then growing stronger.  He muttered the incantation and the vapour expanded, twisting upwards to join the other clouds of blue snaking above the city, twisting together to form a beautiful, spiralling fog.</p>
<p>The fog didn’t stay for very long.  It moved as swiftly as the wind, gliding over the buildings, dancing through the streets.  Harry knew where it was headed.  It was circling towards St Mungo’s and towards all the Muggle hospitals.  It was speeding through the wards, swirling over the patients as they lay on their beds, whirling towards the doctors and nurses as they treated them, filling them with something stronger than the curse. </p>
<p>Filling them with courage.</p>
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